


Ashes to Ashes

by athens7



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: "Where no man has gone before" reboot version, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Spock is a very nice boyfriend, TOS episode rewrite, it's all Kirk's fault because he does angst so well, you can't have hurt!Kirk without a Bones cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athens7/pseuds/athens7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Gary Mitchell’s death, Kirk and Spock are offered the opportunity to finally overcome their divergencies and reveal their true feelings. Sort of reboot version of “Where no man has gone before” (you don’t need to know the episode in detail though, as all the main plot points are condensed in the first part of the story).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost three years ago; it was one of my first, very timid attempts both at fanfiction in particular, and at writing in general. I decided to re-post it here exactly as it was, though the temptation to edit a bit here and there was strong. 
> 
> Beta’ed by the awesome mazaher who, despite going through a hard time, found the patience and the kindness to help me in putting this together with her priceless suggestions and accurate corrections. This story would have never seen the light if you hadn’t been there, dear friend.

Jim walks.

The lane is dark and narrow, lined on both sides with jagged walls of rocks, scraps and broken glass. Every now and then strange creatures with glowing eyes (that he doesn’t recognize but that somehow oddly make him think of cats) come out from the cimmerian shades, regard him curiously for a while, and once again are swallowed up by the blackness. A breath of cool air brushes his shoulders and his nape, and he shivers.

He keeps walking, even if he doesn’t remember where he’s going. He thinks he knew it once, but somehow he… forgot.

Suddenly a building appears in front of him, one that calls to his mind those imposing towers he once saw in Chicago (what is Chicago?).

But then he’s inside (when did he go in?) and realizes that this is the dormitory where he used to live with Bones during their Academy days (all these names and facts keep coming to him, but he can’t figure out what their meaning may be).

The corridors are dim and empty, the doors are locked, and all he can hear is silence.

Everything is grey and sad and he’s the last man on Earth, in the Sol system, in the Milky Way.

He’s so tired, and abruptly senses with a tinge of panic that at some point in his roaming he took the wrong direction.  
This is not the right path and he should go back right now, but he doesn’t remember anymore how he got here, so he can only go on.

He finds another door at the end of the hall, and it’s open.  
He crosses the threshold and enters what appears to be a hotel suite.

_this is the room the start of it all no portrait so fine only sheets on the wall_

There’s a man sprawled on the large double bed on the opposite side of the room: he’s completely naked, and he’s watching him with inviting eyes, the left arm languidly supporting his head and the right leg bent so as to offer a better view of his sex.

Jim is suddenly aware of his painful arousal, he can feel it running up his spine, clenching his guts.  
The naked man rises from the bed in a fluid motion and walks towards him, at a pace so deliberate that he doesn’t seem to move at all.

As soon as he’s near enough, Jim grabs him greedily by the arm and clutches him.  
They look at each other for a long time, locked in a smothering embrace, then Jim kisses him fiercely, while stroking his arms, his shoulders, his back.

But he soon realizes that something’s wrong: the lips under his are cold as ice, and he notices with a pang of horror that the other’s skin is coming off under his caresses, he can feel the shreds slipping out of his fingers.

_I’ve seen the nights filled with bloodsport and pain and the bodies obtained the bodies obtained_

He stops kissing him and opens his eyes and sees that he’s holding a corpse in his arms.  
He cries out and takes a few steps backwards, feeling the bile rising up in his throat.

_“Why did you kill him?”_ asks a voice coming from nowhere.  
“There was no alternative! If I hadn’t, he would have killed us all!”  
 _“In spite of the fact that he was a living being, just like you?”_  
“No, no he wasn’t! Not anymore…”  
 _“Who are you to decide that? Did he not breathe? Did he not speak? Did he not think? Did he not FEEL?”_  
“I --- I didn’t want to kill him… But I had to.”  
 _“For this reason, you killed him.”_

The voice starts repeating these words over and over again, until they can no longer be distinguished.  
The corpse points a skeletal finger against him, with wide eyes and a grotesque sneer that make it look like a rotting porcelain doll, and then starts laughing, an obsessive, guttural noise that seeps into his nerves and mingles with the voice in a cacophony that swallows him, deafens him and brings him to the edge of madness.

Then, both the voice and the laughter stop and someone else whispers: _“Forgive me.”_

 

… and Jim wakes up.

 

***** 

 

Spock is sitting on a bench contemplating quietly the tall and lonely figure running through the perfectly tended walkways of the Arboretum. Together with the Bridge and the astral dome of the Observatory, this structure is unanimously appraised as one of the most well-developed sections on the entire Enterprise.

But unfortunately, tonight Spock has no time to waste on appreciating his spectacular surroundings: his eyes are keenly focused on studying his Captain bringing himself to exhaustion in a never-ending jogging session (2 hours, 47 minutes, 13 seconds and counting, his prodigious internal chronometer supplies).

He must stop him, but right now Kirk is a pendulum incessantly oscillating between pain and desperation; the moment has not come yet, so he waits.

After a while, he decides to attain a light level of meditation; in order to deal efficiently with what’s lying ahead, he needs concentration, and as much data as possible. Maybe a further analysis of his exchange with McCoy will reveal useful elements.

 

...

 

_“Spock, this whole mission turned out a fucking mayhem. As if it weren’t enough, I think that something else happened down on that bloody planet.”_

_“The Captain’s report was significantly exhaustive in the exposition of transpired events.”_

_Perhaps even excessively so, he couldn’t help thinking, but didn’t say. As if somehow Kirk, in an attempt at self-flagellation, had forced himself to relive every single detail, even the most gruesome, and in doing so to commit them forever to memory._

_“Fuck what’s in the report. I meant to say.. I suspect that Jim left something out, something unimportant to the official records but crucial for his mental sanity. Are you with me, Spock?”_

_“Exceptionally, I think I am. But I had assumed that you were his closest friend. Why did you not attempt to communicate with him on this matter?”_

_“You really believe I didn’t try? The kid usually is more outgoing than a drunken Orion girl, but when it comes down to emotions and personal issues is more tight-lipped than an Aldebaran shell-mouth. I’m serious man, between the two of you a shrink could earn enough credits to buy an asteroid.”_

_“… and your point is, Doctor?”_

_“My point is, I failed. So now it’s up to you.”_

_“What leads you to suppose that I am more suitable than you are in providing assistance to him? Invariably you endeavor to remind me of the fact that I do not have a heart. ‘Walking freezer unit’ I believe was the last entry to your long list of analogies.”_

_“Let’s just say that I have a hunch. You two are similar in more ways than I care to admit. If there’s one person here who can reach him, that’s you. Besides, it’s part of your duty as First Officer to make sure of the Captain’s well-being. This ship won’t go far otherwise.”_

_“That is… oddly logical. I will go to him at once.”_

_“Spare yourself the walk to his quarters. You won’t find him there.”_

_“Any suggestion about his plausible location?”_

_“Let’s see if that Vulcan brain of yours can deduce it. But let me give you a tip, hobgoblin. When you find him, don’t face him head-on. You must wear your stallion down first before you can even have a chance to break him.”_

...

 

Even if he can’t still bring himself to approve of his constant use of increasingly crude metaphors, for once Spock has to agree with the good Doctor.

If anything is certain about James Kirk’s personality, that is his stubborness.

In the privacy of his thoughts Spock can admit that exploring the workings of his Captain’s impossibly fascinating mind is one of the most stimulating experiences of his entire life. Never before, not even during his most complex scientific research, has Spock found himself dealing with such a dynamic enigma: he seems to be unsolvable, because he’s constantly on the move, engaged in a process of eternal evolution. Every time Spock is under the illusion of being close to the solution, Jim wipes all his carefully-constructed theories away, erasing all those hard-established parameters, and he has to begin all over again. There’s no framework, no guideline to support him.

It is endlessly frustrating, and maddeningly compelling. He will not leave the human’s side until he succeeds.

And now, this. He has no idea about which is the correct course of action to take. He feels terribly inadequate.

But then he recalls the unnatural silence filling the Bridge these last few days; his Captain’s eyes, so distant, their inner light so dampened; the fact that he no longer shares his meals in the Mess Hall with the other crew members, or fences in the gym with Lieutenant Sulu, or debates with Nyota on the application of the umlaut mechanism to Romulan dialects.

He realizes with an odd sort of sudden clarity that it’s been two unending, wearisome weeks since he’s last heard Jim’s laughter.

This cannot be allowed to continue.

He opens his eyes, and becomes aware of the fact that he is alone in the Arboretum.  
He allows himself the luxury of a sigh. Then he stands and leaves again in search of Kirk.

 

*****

 

Entering the Observatory, Spock has the fleeting thought that it should have been his first choice.

During the months, he has observed how this architecture – a magnificent combination of durasteel, aluminium and carbon fiber -- with its imposing elegance, holds a special place in Jim’s heart.

“The fact is… you know, watching the stars from here feels like reading God’s thoughts”, he had offered once as an explanation to Spock’s inquiry (the usually soft pink shade of his cheekbones and neck had heightened by a factor of 13.7%, his eidetic memory recalls).

Tonight the dome offers a view of rare beauty: NGC 6543 (or, as humans call it with their usual lyrical fire, the Cat’s Eye), with its eleven concentric rings of gas, the flaming inner ellipse, the spherical bubbles conjoined together like two cosmic lovers and the sinewy arcs, is as majestic as always, a lysergic delirium born from the ecstatic minds of the princes of the Universe.

This astronomical prodigy whispers voiceless secrets to Spock’s heart, and he doesn’t feel any sense of shame in his sentimentality. He never could, when something like the Cat’s Eye is concerned.

He manages to remove his gaze at last, and finds Jim lying on his back right at the centre of the Observatory, hands intertwined behind his head, eyes fixed on the nebula above him.

He doesn’t seem to notice the Vulcan’s entrance, but as soon as Spock steps nearer he speaks: “Bones sent you, didn’t he?”  
His voice is rough, and slightly annoyed.

“Indeed, the Doctor paid me a visit ” Spock replies calmly while he keeps moving towards the human – slowly, discreetly, as if approaching a wounded sehlat.  
“Insufferable mother hen from Georgia.”

Spock finally reaches him and sits cross-legged beside him, his hands resting in his lap.

“Who told you that you could stay?”  
“You did not specify that I had to depart.”  
“Omission is admission.”  
“I am afraid, Captain, that if you really want me to leave, you will have to make it an order.”

Jim doesn’t answer, so Spock doesn’t move.

They remain like that for a long sequence of minutes, during which Spock’s mind searches frantically for something to say. The problem is, he has no experience in this field: give him the most complex equation, he will solve it; give him the most intricate stream of data, he will analyze it and make a summary of the main points by shift’s end. But when it comes down to emotions and human behaviours, where the irrational rules and no formula can be applied, he is as naïve and lost as a child.

He doesn’t even understand the real reason for his being here. So he waits.

Unexpectedly, it’s Kirk who breaks the silence:  
“You know, I feel like they cheated me. The stars, I mean. They lured me into reaching them, promising freedom and a different world and… and now that I’m finally here, floating among them, I find out that it was all a load of shit. My own dream is killing me. Pretty ironic, isn’t it?”

Spock doesn’t comment.  
Jim sighs and stretches.

“To be or not to be Spock, that is the question… To die, to sleep… To sleep, perchance to dream…”, he declaims, a self-mocking grimace twisting his lips.

At this point, Spock decides that a drastic intervention is in order and goes straight for the jugular.

“Captain…”  
 _Wrong. Second attempt._  
“…Jim. What happened to Lieutenant Gary Mitchell was not your fault. You merely performed your duty.”

It seems to be both the right and the wrong thing to say.  
Kirk sits up abruptly, turns to fix his ultramarine eyes on the Vulcan.

“How dare you say that?” he growls, bare anger ready to esplode in his throat.  
“Jim, the incident at the Galactic Barrier triggered off a mechanism in Mitchell’s mind that, through a near-instantaneous quantum leap in telepathic ability, was transforming him in an almost god-like being. His sanity had collapsed under the weight of such overwhelming power. He was unstoppable. He destroyed crew members for the sheer pleasure of it. He almost killed both myself and the doctor. He tortured you to demonstrate his superiority. If you had not resorted to such extreme measures, he would have destroyed the Enterprise.”

But Jim is not listening, and Spock understands that he must have been reciting incessantly these exact words to himself for the past two weeks.

“There is something else, is there not? Tell me what it is that torments you so. Let me help.”  
This seems to touch some hidden place in Jim, at last. His eyes regain some lucidity and he looks at Spock as if he doesn’t even know what he’s doing here.

He turns away then, swallows, shakes his right leg, and finally speaks.

“He asked me to forgive him.”  
“Wh…”  
“Just before I killed him. For only a second, he was himself again – I knew it from his eyes – and he said ‘Forgive me’. ”

Spock doesn’t know how to reply, but he also knows that it is not necessary. At least, not for the moment. The levee has broken, and now Jim’s grief is coming out like a flooding river, his aura broadcasting so intensely that Spock barely restrains the impulse to wince.

“It’s just… I keep asking myself. What atrocities am I willing to commit in the name of duty? What kind of person am I transforming into? Maybe Nero was right. James T.Kirk was considered to be a great man, but that was another life. I feel so tired, Spock…”

The last words are a faint murmur, while he rests his head on his bent knees.  
The sight sparks a memory in Spock’s mind, an image forever etched in his retinas.

The Kobayashi Maru hearing; that cruel verbal fight; his vicious words a honed needle jabbing the tender tissue of Kirk’s emotions, with the determined purpose to drive blood.

And Jim, looking at him for a second, jaw set, then bowing his head, his eyelashes projecting long shadows on his cheekbones.  
He was caught, overpowered, yet how much fierceness there was in that simple gesture.

For just that eternal moment, he let everybody see: the never healed scars, the desolation, the vulnerability; it was all there, in those half-closed eyes. The awareness of not being accepted, always misunderstood; not belonging.

 _He walks amongst us, but he is not one of us,_ the tormentors of his childhood used to whisper.

Spock should have recognized it at once; he should have reached out to him, greeted him as a kindred spirit lost for so long and now found again at last.  
Instead, like everybody else, he chose to be blind.

But he will not make the same mistake twice. Not with his counterpart’s promises singing in his ears. Not when finally he’s being offered the chance to make amends.

_‘Spock, do yourself a favor. Put aside logic and do what feels right.’_

“Jim, look at me.”  
Thank Surak, he does.

“You must stop doing this to yourself. You have become Captain not because of your dedication to Starfleet, but for your determination to do what you must, what you deem right, no matter the cost. Kaaidth. You always find a way to move forward. For this, James Kirk, you will always be a great man.”

The human’s eyes are filled with a dangerous light. He chews his lower lip, twice opens his mouth to speak but falls silent, then finally finds his voice.

“But – who gives me the right, Spock? Who am I to decide who lives and who dies? How – how can I be sure?”

“It is the life you chose. It is what you are. There will be other times, Jim, even more desperate than this last one. Endure. And remember that I will always be by your side, to offer you my hand whenever you fall. Please, let it be sufficient, for it is all I have.”

Kirk is close, so close to concede, he sees it. But they still need something else. Something more.

A leap. An act of faith.  
So Spock takes Jim’s face in his hands and kisses him. On the mouth.

It’s delicate and soft. Nothing more than a sweeping of lips.  
They remain like that for almost twenty seconds (15,9), their eyes locked.

Then Spock strokes the seam of Jim’s lips with the tip of his tongue, asking for entrance, and a small flame inside them turns into a blaze.  
Jim’s lids close and he moans, a quiet, fragile sob that clutches the Vulcan’s heart and punches his stomach.  
His right hand leaves Jim’s face to encircle his waist, while the left supports the human’s head.

His Captain’s mouth is cool and soft and incurably intoxicating, and he can’t stop himself from sinking into it, his tongue counting every tooth, licking the palate, savoring the inside of his cheeks.  
Jim is completely wrapped around him, one hand grasping his nape, the other trying to cover every available centimeter of his skin, to plunge through his uniform.

Then Spock’s thigh touches Kirk’s erection, and the Vulcan can hear distinctly Jim’s mental jolt of panic.

 _no no please please make me stop this is too much I can’t I can’t can’t can’t not when I am like this_ \-- Slowly, carefully, their tongues part, the kiss becomes again an innocent caress. Their lips meet one last time, sealing a vow.

Jim inhales shakily, hiding himself against Spock’s throat.

“Spock, gods – wha -- what the fuck are we doing?”

 _I do not know._ It seems to be his most reoccurring answer when dealing with James Kirk.

“I am attempting to give you a reason to come back.”  
“Spo – fuck, fuck, I can’t, but, but… if you -- “

Spock grasps him by the arms, pressing their foreheads together.  
“Hush, Jim. Breathe deeply. Take all the time you need. I will not go away. Do you understand?”

Jim nods weakly, blinking back a scorching tear trying to fight its way out of his eyes, and then finally rests his head on the Vulcan’s shoulder.  
Spock closes his eyes, focusing on Jim’s respiration steadying down; he starts stroking the human’s scalp, his fingers relishing the texture of the hair and the siren’s song of those golden thoughts throbbing and dancing under the skull.

The Cat’s Eye studies them avidly.

 

*****

 

“… I think we should leave.”  
“Indeed, I suppose your quarters will prove to be a more appropriate location.”  
“My legs feel like concrete.”

Spock grabs him by the hand, then rises gracefully to his feet in one single fluid moment - like a rush returns to its position after being beaten from a gust of wind - taking Jim with him.

“Thanks” he mutters, a small smile gracing his lips, so humble and embarrassed that Spock wishes he could take him inside his ribcage and never let go.  
They exit the Observatory and go towards the turbolift.

The lights are dim (night simulation), the corridors are empty (gamma shift), and all Jim can hear is their steps, a harmonious unison beating on the floor and soothing his naked nerves.

 

*****

 

During the ride to Deck 5, he catches on the fact that their hands are still interlaced.

The realization makes him draw back slightly, but Spock responds immediately by holding tighter.  
Their eyes don’t meet.

 

*****

 

Finally, they are in front of Kirk’s quarters. The sight of the closed door makes Jim feel like is suddenly drowning in an ocean, but it’s just a flash, and they are already inside.

Their hands come apart.

“Do you require something? A hot beverage, perhaps?” Spock asks, heading towards the replicator.  
“No, garçon, thank you” Jim replies letting himself collapse on the bed, a comfortable numbness slowly pervading him.

Spock follows, kneels in front of him, and starts to untie his boots.  
“Spock ---“ Jim starts, propping himself on his elbows.  
“Any complaint will not be registered, so it would be wise on your part to lie down and remain silent.”  
“Hey, you mutinied Vulcan, this is your Captain you’re speaking to!”  
“Then I believe you should convict me and… oh yes, throw me in the brig.”

Jim opens his mouth, then closes it and settles back on the bed.  
“You’re pretty determined to knock me over tonight, huh?” he groans.  
“In order to avoid the monotony deriving from repetition, I believe a reversal of roles should be occasionally applied” Spock replies impassively, removing the human’s trousers.  
“Okay, I think that’s enough!” Jim startles, blushing furiously and wrapping himself in the sheets.

His First Officer contemplates him with a raised eyebrow for a moment, then starts to rise.  
One of Jim’s hand comes out of the covers to grip his left sleeve.

“… Stay?” he swallows.  
“Jim, when was it the last time you rested?” the Vulcan asks, fond exhasperation tinging his tone.  
“… You know it perfectly.”

Spock lets out an imperceptible sigh, then undresses and climbs into the narrow bunk, his chest pressing against Jim’s back, his left arm caressing the human’s pectorals.

“Your heart rate is increasing exponentially. Do you feel unwell, Captain?”  
“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea after all” Kirk says, and starts to move away. But it’s a mistake, because this way Spock’s hand brushes the bulge in his briefs.

_Shit. I hate myself._

“You are aroused.”  
“Yes… just -- just ignore it, okay? It’ll go away in a moment.”  
“This is the second time it occurs. Should I surmise that in some manner it is related to my presence?”  
“Well, I -- yes of course, I mean no! No, you can’t ---"  
“Do you desire to engage in some form of sexual intercourse with me?”  
“Geez, Spock, you need to work on your pick-up lines. Badly.”  
“As they seem to be most effective on you, I do not see the value of making such an effort.”

_Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?_

But Jim hasn’t the time to try find an aswer, because Spock pushes him against the pillow, pulls his underwear down and spreads his legs  
Complete, sheer panic clutches Kirk’s stomach.

“Spock, Spock, what the --- stop!”  
The Vulcan obeys, of course, but the fire in his eyes says clearly that he would much prefer to continue.

“Why this reticence, Jim? You want this, I detect it quite distinctly” he murmurs, caressing the human’s inner thigh.  
“You goddamned touch telepath, what about you? Do you want it? I don’t need an act of mercy out of some misplaced sense of duty”.

_Ops. Maybe that was a bit way out._

Spock doesn’t say a word. He stares at Kirk for an everlasting minute, then abruptly goes down on him and takes his still rigid cock completely in his mouth.  
While grabbing compulsively the headboard, Jim has a few nanoseconds to think that if it hadn’t been for Spock’s strong hands holding his hips, he would surely have smashed through the ceiling.

Then the Vulcan starts sucking and licking, his head bobbing to an exhausting rhythm, and all Kirk’s brain can do is keep sending impulses to his vocal organs to produce as many moans as possible.  
He lasts for just a pair of minutes and then he comes, exhaling a raw, long cry, grasping desperately Spock’s hair, molten lava burning his guts, the relief so intense and unbearable that it borders on pain.

Spock keeps him in his mouth for a few more seconds, swallows, then gently releases him.

“Oh, gods… I’m going to die right here, right now.” Jim wails to the walls.

The Vulcan lays back and waits for him to regain his breath.

“Are you truly convinced” he growls at last, melting him with his stare, “that I would perform an act of this entity merely because I am your First Officer?”  
“I --- Spock, I can explain –“  
“In your opinion, what was the motive behind Nyota’s choice to interrupt our romantic involvement?”

Jim freezes.

“… Oh” is all he can manage. “Oh.”

“Precisely.”

Briefly, Jim wonders if in presence of this man he will ever stop feeling an earthworm.

“Spock, just… I’m sorry. Forgive me.”  
“For what?”  
“I… I don’t know. For what I said before. For Uhura. For everything I ever did. For anything I will ever do” he whispers, hiding his face behind his forearm.

The mumbled declaration seems to mellow the Vulcan a little.

He removes Jim’s arm, and kisses him on the forehead. A blessing. An absolution for the both of them.

 _So brown and warm your eyes,_ Kirk muses confusely. _Like autumn leaves in San Francisco._

“Your light burns so bright” Spock answers him. “Like T’Khut rising.”  
“Mushy Vulcan.”  
“Consider yourself responsible for it.”

And then the console besides the bed beeps.

“Geez, I can’t do this” Jim grunts, rubbing his eyes, while Spock answers.  
“It’s about damn time, you reckless, foolhardy --- WHAT THE HELL, TAKE THE VISUAL OFF, WILL YOU?!”  
“It’s good to see you too, Bones.”  
“Doctor, the need to raise so inordinately the decibel level of your voice escapes me.”  
“You will have to buy me a very large supply of Saurian brandy to make my limbic system remove this, damn you.”  
“What has been seen cannot be unseen, Doc.”  
“I hate you. I really do. I found another gray hair on my pillow this morning, did ya know that? And I’m thirty-two, for God’s sake!”  
“Frankly, I fail to discern the cause for your agitation, Doctor. After all, you were the one who asserted that I was the most suitable candidate for aiding the Captain.”  
“I – I never meant it _this way_ , you devilish brainiac! I didn’t want to play matchmaker!”  
“To spare yourself other distasteful shocks, it would be advisable that in the future you learned to articulate your thoughts in a more accurate form.”  
“Please someone explain to me why every argument turns in a chance for you to – “

But whatever McCoy was going to sputter is broken off by Jim bursting into laughter.

“Oh, you, you two… are so lovely” he manages to gasp between one chuckle and the next, “You are more peevish than an old married couple.”  
“Ouch, kid… That’s gross.” the Doctor comments, while trying desperately not to show his contentment in seeing that his friend is finally back.  
“It is indeed a disquieting similitude” Spock adds, while wondering internally how is it possible for him to miss so much a simple sequence of waves of pressure.

“Well, I think I’ve cock-blocked you enough –“  
“Bones!”  
“ – so I’m going to prudently turn this pretty gadget off and drink at least four bourbons in order to forget that all this ever happened, okay?”  
“That would be most appreciated.”  
“I love you, too, hobgoblin. Oh, and Jim, please keep in mind what I told ya about the double-ridged --- “  
“See you tomorrow, Bones!!” Kirk exclaims, and cuts the connection. “So… what shall we do now?” he murmurs then, turning to face the Vulcan with a semi-lascivious smile.

“I suppose that, being 02:34 in the ship’s morning, it is time for you to… I believe the correct expression is ‘ to hit the sack’.”

Jim’s smile falters.

“But, I thought… I mean, earlier you didn’t, um…”  
“I have no intention to allow my bodily instincts to deprive you of much needed rest.”  
“But I’m more awake than ever!” the human protests yawning. “Okay, that was ill-timed, however -”  
“Jim” Spock interrupts him gently, sweeping a hand over his cheek. “I meant what I said in the Observatory. I will not go away.”

Jim looks at him then, covers his hand with his own, draws him near until their noses almost touch.  
All Spock can see is sapphire blue.

“That’s a good thing to hear. Because, if you ever decided to leave me I’d have to overturn the entire galaxy to bring you back. You’ll never get rid of me, understand?” he whispers fiercely.  
“Should I regard it as a promise or rather as a threat?”  
“Both.”  
“Hence be informed that it is mutual.”  
“We have a deal” Jim concludes, and stretches out on his side.

Spock follows immediately, enveloping his Captain with his arm and caressing his head with the right hand in a tender pattern, starting from the nape, stroking the short-cut hair, then reaching the temple, where his fingers begin to trace tiny, warming circles that make Jim’s vision blur.

“Wow, Spock… what was that?” he mumbles, the question sleepily slurred.  
“I am merely stimulating your hypophysis to produce more endorphines. Does it bother you?”  
“You’re joking. No, no, keep doing it. It – it feels good.”  
“Good night, Jim.”  
“Sleep tight, Spock.”  
“… Illogical.”  
“Like everything else, for that matter.”

Kirk closes his eyes, Spock’s heartbeat lulling him, and for the first time in two weeks, no dead man comes to haunt him.

Tomorrow will bring a new day. Other challenges, other life-or-death decisions, other compromises.  
He should be terrified, his heart should tremble in his ribs. But then a strong hand closes over his chest, and he stops thinking.

For those few hours (and much beyond that), they are together, and free to simply be.


End file.
